


Something in the Game

by greatdisorder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Psychopaths In Love, Sebastian likes it when Jim bites, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatdisorder/pseuds/greatdisorder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sebastian Moran doesn't know why he puts up with Jim, but other times he's incredibly aware of why he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something in the Game

Sebastian is a man of few words. 

Not always, but sometimes, because sometimes Jim isn't looking for responses to his questions and sometimes any answer Sebastian can give is always going to be the wrong one. Those are the nights that are wise to look out for, but sometimes, he isn't a wise man either. 

He's clever and ruthless with sure, steady hands, but Jim is a creature that has no pattern to learn by, who is made up of sharp teeth that tear into Sebastian's neck and and sharper claws that rip bloody lines into his skin and owns a mind that ranks the the sound of snapping of bones alongside Bach's _Partita no. 1_. He's as intriguing as he is terrifying, smarter than both Holmes brothers put together, and he doesn't look nearly as dangerous as Sebastian knows him to be with his Westwood suits and his taunting, sing-song voice. Maybe(probably) that's part of his appeal, part of how Sebastian really doesn't mind waking up with his blood dried on the bed sheets and a necklace of bruises around his throat. Part of why Seb doesn't break Jim's jaw when all the jam in the kitchen is laced with arsenic and one in four tea bags is poisoned. The reason Sebastian doesn't comment(and doesn't quite frown) when sees the hearts drawn on the wall in blood and hidden cameras tucked into the dark corners of the bedroom, the bathroom, the clever trackers planted into Sebastian's laptop.

The sniper gives as good as he gets, though, and Sebastian isn't the only one who has the faint traces of healing bite marks on his chest or bruised wrists from too-tight handcuffs that seem to have a permanent place on the bed post. He isn't the only one looking after cigarette burns on his forearms and intricate knifework patterns on his back, lines that Sebastian has caught him looking at curiously in the mirror above the bathroom sink like they're an equation interesting enough for Jim to bother trying to solve. 

Jim never flinches, not when he's tonguing the fresh split in his bottom lip or pressing gingerly at his blackening eye or even when he's letting Sebastian rip angry red lines into his pretty white skin. He laughs instead, wild, manic giggles when he gets the upper hand, digging his knee sharply into Sebastian's chest, purring out _darling_ , _my love_ , _Daddy's favorite pet_ , and he means every word as he licks drops of his own blood off of Sebastian's cheek.

It might(probably) also be something in the way Jim watches that keeps Sebastian so intrigued. Not just watches his sniper, no, but watches everything around them with the sort of attention that should be more unsettling than it is arousing. Sherlock Holmes may think he's so special because he can read someone's life story in the crease of their shirt cuffs and the dirt under their fingernails but Jim can anticipate what people are going to do next with an inhuman sort of accuracy, always ten steps ahead, always pulling the strings and Sebastian, forever a soldier, always a colonel even when he doesn't want to be, is still okay with his strings being pulled-- not by just anyone, mind, but Jim Moriarty is clearly not just anyone.

He's brilliant and insane and made of the kind of things that break unbreakable men. The sort of things that makes Sebastian willing to submit to him, to be bent until he starts to splinter, until he can get his fingers in Jim's soft hair tight enough to rip it out and twist until he's got the slim man on his knees, Jim's mouth curling into a smirk nearly too wide to be contained on his face and his dark eyes gazing so intently that Sebastian thinks they can see straight through him and down to his very core. 

And it's why when Jim strokes his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Sebastian's neck and watches while he steadies his rifle on another anonymous rooftop of London, his gaze turning distant as a cigarette turns to ashes between his fingertips and his voice soft enough to be carried away by the wind when he says _Now_ that Sebastian doesn't think twice about pulling the trigger.


End file.
